


I'm Not the One You Want to Forget (or That Time Harry Asked Nick to Make It Better)

by SingleStrand



Series: The Hammy Files (or Many Ficlets about Harry Styles and Nick Grimshaw) [3]
Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: M/M, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2018-01-10 02:06:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1153478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SingleStrand/pseuds/SingleStrand
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically Louis will never be with Harry the way he wants so he goes to cry to Nick and sex happens. There's not much plot here. It's just a thing. Hammy sex. With a Larry past. Don't hate.</p><p>I was going to write this really long multi-chap Larry, Hammy, Larry thing and I might some day add more to make that happen but lbr right now all I'm capable of writing is Nick fucking some sense into Harry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Not the One You Want to Forget (or That Time Harry Asked Nick to Make It Better)

And so he ends up sat on Nick’s couch, wailing generic woes into a glass of wine and not making any specific sense.

“He’ll never be there with me, y’know? Like, he’ll never be _ready_ , and I--I’m ready, Grimmy. I want it to be a thing that I can talk about in interviews and that I’m not hiding all the time. I want that so bad.” Harry just manages to get another gulp of his wine before Nick’s removed the glass from his hand and sat it far, far away on an end table.

“All right now, popstar. That’s enough drink. It’s going to be fine. Look at me.” Nick pauses for emphasis, waiting until Harry has lifted his eyes from the spot he’s been staring at on the floor. “It’s going to be fine, Harry. You’re so young. and you’re about to travel the world for the second time, need I remind you, where there are guys waiting for your bus or plane in every single city. There’s someone else out there, Haz. I promise.” Nick’s voice slows down some and he reaches over to pat Harry’s leg softly. “Look. I know you love that little prick, but someday you’ll look back on all of this and it will seem so insignificant compared to the rest of the life you’ve got to live. Okay? Let’s just get some sleep, and we can talk more tomorrow? In the light of day when things don’t seem so dreary and desperate.”

Harry sits for a long moment and sighs. “Yeah, fine. I’ll try to sleep. But if I join you in your bed in a bit, no complaining about my cold toes.”

Harry is already wiping his eyes, and Nick thinks for just a moment that maybe Haz will get through this easier than he first thought. When Harry had shown up on his doorstep, crying and haphazard, Nick had been instantly certain of the cause. His initial thought was to dramatically run out the door, jump in his car to find Louis and wring his fucking neck, but he obviously diverted that rage into wine and hugs and a listening ear for his friend. And that’s what he would be tomorrow, too.

“G’night, Haz,” Nick whispers, tucking a throw around the boy on his sofa. “Just come get me if you need anything.”

“Sure,” Harry replies, eyes already drooping from the adrenaline rush of the breakup. “Night.”

Harry falls quickly into a fitful sleep, but eventually calms and wakes several hours later, daylight creeping in the drapes and Nick crunching toast in his ear.

“Morning. Toast?”

Harry sits up, back cracking several times as he stretches out his joints, stiff from the long night cramped on the sofa. “Sure,” he mumbles, yawning and lying back against the cushions.

“Well you know where the bread is, mate. Not gonna make itself, yeah?” Nick smiles around a mouthful of toast and jam, cocking an eyebrow as if to make it absolutely clear that he’s not going to treat Harry any differently today from any other day, heartbroken or not.

“Yes, sir. Would you like some tea while I’m at it?” Harry grins sheepishly, standing in only his pants to pull on a shirt but not bothering with the jeans in a heap on the floor.

“Of course, I would. Milk, no sugar.”

____________________________________________________________________________

“Half three? You mean we’ve sat here on your sofa watching Bake Off for six hours?” Harry squints at the watch on Nick’s wrist, absently scratching his own bare thigh. Never did bother with those jeans as they’ve not left the house--or even the sofa--all day.

“That’s exactly what I mean, popstar. What say we get a curry and watch another six?”

Harry reaches for his cell phone for the first time all day, anxiety drawn up in his forehead and lips pulled down in a pout. Nothing. Not a message, text, or missed call in nearly 24 hours.

“Yeah, but not curry. Pizza?”

“Whatever you want, Harry.” At the same time Harry tosses his phone back to the pile of jeans on the floor, Nick pulls his own phone from his pocket and rings their favorite place, no need to consult with Harry on the order.

____________________________________________________________________________

“Wine with pizza was definitely a good idea. But now I need a shower. I feel, I dunno, greasy.” Nick runs a long finger down his nose, inspecting it for telltale shine from not showering in a ... few days. “I’ll be back.”

As soon as he’s gone, Harry grabs his phone again, relief and anger combining in his stomach as he sees Louis’s name on the screen.

_Not sure where you are but I hope ur safe. xo_

Safe? XO? Honestly. Harry snorts and tosses the phone back to the floor, intent on not responding, before turning the TV off and lying back on the couch once again. His eyes drift closed and the wine fuzz in his brain has just started to relax him when water droplets fling all over his bare legs.

“What the fuck, Nick?” Harry jumps off the couch, water trickling down in tiny rivulets through his leg hair.

Nick stands behind the sofa, hair dripping as if he didn’t bother to dry it at all, and throws a towel at Harry’s face. “Go shower. You stink.”

It’s only a few moments before Harry returns to the living room where Nick has already uncorked a second bottle of wine. He looks up from pouring two glasses and hesitates, trying not to care that Harry is standing there in no shirt and just a pair of Nick’s pants. Bright red pants that are entirely too small.

“Didn’t know what to wear,” Harry says slowly, one hand tracing small circles along his collarbone while the other pats a rhythm on his thigh. Nick swallows.

“Well, whatever you want, I suppose. You intend to stay another night, right? No use going home now.”

“Yeah, if you don’t mind? Like, you can go out or whatever and I can just crash on the sofa again.” Harry looks down at the floor, and Nick hates, hates so much, that look of little boy lostness on his face.

“No, no! I’m not going out. I’m old, popstar. I don’t often go out gallivanting around like a teenager, you know. I’m content to stay here with wine and a good friend and whatever else,” Nick’s voice drifts off and he glances at the TV that’s now a black screen.

A moment of what might be construed as awkward silence settles over the room, but Harry ignores it, walking around the side of the couch to the center of the room.

“Need to sit on a hard surface for a bit. Your couch is making my arse numb.” Harry settles on the floor in front of the coffee table, reaching for one of the glasses of wine and passing the other to Nick over his shoulder.

“I’ve got a hard surface for you,” Nick snickers, and just like that the mood is light again, both of them laughing like idiots and Nick settling on some sport match after Harry vetoed 17 Again.

“More wine?” Nick tops off his glass and gestures to Harry’s.

“Please.” As he pours, Nick glances at Harry’s face, lips bright red and cheeks flushed from the wine.

“You doing alright, Haz?” He knocks a knee against Harry’s shoulder, silently making sure he knows what Nick is referring to.

Harry looks at the telly, eyes seeing straight through the footballers on the pitch. “I think so? S’like, a constant thought in the back of my mind that I’m always fighting, not letting it get to the front of my mind? Does that make sense?”

“Of course it does. But you know it won’t always feel like that, right? I mean, it’s so fresh, so raw. It’s going to be front and center of your mind for awhile. Just be patient and let yourself heal, you know?” Nick placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder, gently kneading as he spoke, but ever the one to break up a serious moment, he added, “Look on the bright side. I distinctly remember you once said ‘think of all the pussy you’re going to get’. So ... just think of all the dick you’re going to get, Haz. I’m going to get more wine.”

Nick squeezes Harry’s shoulder once more before standing and disappearing through the door the kitchen, wondering if he’s been equal parts concerned best friend as well as easygoing joker. He takes a moment to select one of the bottles of wine in the pantry, another red but a cheaper one now they’re a bottle through the good stuff, and when he turns around to grab the corkscrew, he runs smack into Harry.

“Haz, what are you--” Harry breaks him off with a rough kiss, pressing his body against Nick’s just long enough for Nick to get his bearings and push him gently back. “Harry,” he whispers, looking away.

“D’you mean that? The stuff you said about it being front and center for awhile? Because it’s all I can fucking think about, Nick, and I hate it. I hate _him_ right now and I can’t fucking stand it. I just want it to be done, old news, you know. I don’t want to think about it anymore.”

The hurt in Harry’s eyes is real and so harsh Nick can barely maintain eye contact, but he’s got to make himself heard now, get his point across. “Harry, it’s going to hurt. I’ve been there. And nothing will make it better until you’re just ... better. Sure, there will be distractions and diversions. You’ve got friends and family, people that love you and want to spend time with you and make it better. But it won’t be better until it just is, babe.” Nick reaches over and brushes a tear off of Harry’s cheek.

Harry steps closer once more. "Be my distraction, Grimmy. C'mon. Won't change anything but might make it hurt less, yeah?" Harry presses himself against Nick, who has leaned back against the counter, white-knuckled from his grip on the granite. "Please. Want you to fuck it all out of me, Nick." Harry’s lips are touching his ear, his cock grinding softly against Grimmy’s thigh.

It takes Nick a long moment of fighting it--he knows Harry's on the rebound and it would be--fuck, it would probably be amazing, and it's _Harry_ and if he thinks about it, he's always wondered. It's so easy, comfortable even, to let his hands graze Harry’s bare sides and reach around to his back, pulling him up into a kiss, tongues twining not nearly long enough before Nick’s fingers are sliding downward, gripping Harry's arse in those obscenely small red pants.

"Yeah, like that. Like your hands on me. C'mon. Please, Grim." Harry doesn’t sound desperate, per se, but he’s definitely not interested in taking no for an answer.

"Don't you think it might change things just a bit, Haz?" Nick is mumbling through the sloppy kisses he presses to Harry's neck, biting back a groan at how it feels exactly the way he'd imagined it might.

"We can talk about it later. Just, need you. Fuck." Harry’s hands reach for the front of Nick’s jeans, making quick work of the buttons and sliding a hand down the front to feel his cock through his pants, already half-hard. Nick stops him though, gripping Harry’s wrist with his long fingers.

“Slow down, popstar. Straight for the cock only works with eighteen year olds with endless energy.”

“Sorry,” Harry whimpers, letting Nick guide one arm back to his side and pull him down the hallway to the bedroom by the other. Nick pulls off his tee shirt with the other hand, letting it fall to the floor before pushing Harry into the room.

“Be right there,” he says, nodding toward the bed before turning to his armoire, putting his phone on the docking station and scrolling to some random shuffle of soft jazz Collette probably gave him. Satisfied with the volume, he turns back and walks to the bed, stumbling a bit when he realizes Harry has stripped the red briefs and is lazily stroking himself, watching Nick hungrily. _At least the worried frown is gone_ , he thinks and climbs onto the bed next to Harry.

“Lie back.” He crawls over to Harry’s body, straddling him and swatting his hand away from his cock. “Thought you wanted me to do that,” he says with a smirk and lowers himself down to kiss Harry, gently for just a second, then hard, biting Harry’s lip each time he pulls back to take a breath.

Harry reaches up for Nick’s waist, desperate for the leverage to pull Nick’s cock down or his own up, whatever movement will force them against each other in some blissful friction, but Nick gently removes Harry’s fingers, pulling both hands over his head and holding them there. “Gonna do this proper,” he breathes against Harry’s cheek and nibbles at his chin. “Show you how it’s done, yeah?”

Harry nods eagerly, biting at his bottom lip and trying to force his breathing to slow, while Nick’s lips make slow, lazy kisses down one side of his neck and pausing to suck a few small red welts on one of his swallow tattoos.

“Look at you. Fucking bronzed muscles and black ink. Gorgeous,” Nick whispers, smoothing the palm of one hand over Harry’s chest before biting absently at one of his nipples. “Always forget you’ve got four of these.”

Harry hisses as Nick bites the other nipple while reaching down to graze one of the smaller secondary ones. “Nick,” he whines, arching his back off the bed. “Stop teasing.”

“Isn’t teasing, love. S’worshipping.” Nick giggles softly and lowers his head to blow a cool stream of breath across Harry’s skin, delighting at how the flesh pimples up and Harry shivers in almost immediate response. “So pretty,” he mutters. “That arsehole didn’t know how pretty he had it.”

Harry had left his hands overhead until now, when he can’t help but reach for Nick’s head and pull him up into a deep kiss, tongue searching earnestly. “Please, Nick. Please.”

“All right. I’ll take care of you, promise.” Nick forces eye contact, making sure one final time that this is what Harry truly wants, but Harry’s eyes only reflect the need in his own.

As a soft blues tune fills the room, Nick reaches for his bedside table and pulls out some slick and a condom. He gives Harry’s body another sweeping gaze as he opens the lube and drizzles some on his fingers. _This could change everything_ , he thinks to himself, but shrugs it off.

Crawling back over to cover Harry’s body with his own, Nick pushes one of Harry’s legs up and to the side. “Gonna get you ready for me,” he says, sliding a few fingers along Harry’s crack until he finds his hole, rubbing a few gentle circles there, and then finally sliding the tip of one finger inside.

Harry is so responsive, leg jerking up a bit higher and a soft grunt escaping his lips each time Nick moves the finger in a bit further and then out. In a bit further, then out. In. Out. Two fingers. “Fuck Grimmy. Want you to fuck me. C’mon.”

“Not ready yet,” Grimmy whispers and idly sucks another red welt into Harry’s thigh, larger than the ones on his collarbone and shiny wet with spit, all while working two and then three fingers into Harry, spreading and stretching him slowly. “Want you to be ready.”

“Come on, Nick. Harder. Need you. Now, please.” Harry is panting already, wild-eyed and trying hard not to shove his arse down against Nick’s hand, so Nick finally relents, sliding the fingers from his body and reaching for the condom. He leans over to kiss Harry again, full and sure on the mouth, tongue confident and eager.

Once the condom is in place, Nick wastes no time lining himself up and pushing into Harry with purpose. “Like that? Or slower?” he asks, beginning to set a slow but thrusting pace.

Harry has both hands dug into the duvet and both eyes glued to Nick’s own. “Harder,” he says, biting that bottom lip again. “Make me forget,” he whispers as he lifts his butt to meet Nick’s hips.

Nick closes his eyes--the intensity of Harry’s stare too much to bear for more than a few seconds--and begins to increase his pace and power, bracing himself harder on the bed pillows so that he can thrust into Harry harder. The moans and grunts from Harry below him are nearly enough to make him blush. “Nick, yes. Fuck yeah. Keep that, right there. Look at me.”

Nick is startled out of his trance, eyes opening and finding Harry’s immediately. “Want to see you,” Harry whispers before moaning again and reaching a hand down to finally, finally touch his own leaking cock.

Harry hisses a bit at his own touch but throws his head back against the pillow and beginning to babble. “Yeah, like that. Lift my leg up. Yeah, I’m bendy, don’t worry. Lift it up over your shoulder. Fuck, Nick you’re so fit. Shit, so deep now. C’mon Nick, harder. Please.”

Even without the stream of consciousness flowing from Harry’s mouth or the ridiculous pornstar acrobatics he’s forced onto him, Nick wouldn’t be able to last more than a minute more. “M’gonna. Harry, fuck. I’m gonna come.” His hips pumped even harder, stumbling over the rhythm a bit as he comes and lets his head fall to Harry’s shoulder, biting off a groan so that it sounds a bit like a squeak instead.

“Sorry,” Nick pants. “Wanted you to finish first.” All he wants to do is roll over and fall asleep (after massaging the kink out of his old man hamstrings first) but Grimmy forces himself up onto hands and knees, reaching down between them to take over for Harry’s hand.

“I’m close. So close. Twist at the top some. Fuck.” Harry comes without much warning, sticky warmth coating his belly and Nick’s hand as he strokes him through the orgasm, both men panting and damp with sweat.

Harry throws an arm over his eyes for a moment and Nick takes the chance to lie back on his side of the bed, wiping the come from his hand onto the sheet while he catches his breath. But it’s only a mere moment before Harry bounces up, turning with all his eighteen year old energy to straddle Nick’s hips and lean down for another long kiss. “Thank you,” he whispers as he lets Nick come up for air. “Fucking hell, that was ... thank you.”

Nick just smiles, returning the stare as well as the kiss and wondering where the hell they’re going to go from here.


End file.
